


Find Your Light Again (Lose Yourself in Me)

by etherimaginary



Series: Demon!au [1]
Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: Asexuality, M/M, incubus
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-04
Updated: 2016-04-07
Packaged: 2018-05-31 04:54:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 15,575
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6456706
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/etherimaginary/pseuds/etherimaginary
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Jongin is an incubus, Kyungsoo is asexual, and things, inevitably, happen.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. P R E Double T Y

**Author's Note:**

> So I fell asleep at 5pm since I'm sick (and every time I'm sick I like sleep for a day ugh) and now its 1am and I have to get up for school tomorrow but I can't fall back asleep so that's why I'm posting this now. Also I have both a Chemistry and Physics test tomorrow that I didn't study for because I was sleeping. So. That's a thing.
> 
> This fic is a LOT shorter than the other (It moved quite a bit faster, and isn't as intricate and definitely isn't as dark). Take this an apology for all the heart stabbing and tears IOFT caused. However just to let you know there is like one scene of violence. It's not that bad, but I just wanted to give you guys a heads up.

If there was one thing Jongin would never get used to, it was the staring. He could feel their eyes on him as he walked by, not even bothering to be subtle as they burned holes through his clothing. He glanced up quickly, just a brief moment, and the woman he had caught the eye of stopped in her tracks, her eyes glazed over, foggy breath billowing from her parted lips. Gritting his teeth, he dropped his eyes back to the ground, cursing what he was, cursing everything and everyone he had done. The woman, after a moment, blinked in confusion, looking about her with bewilderment pulling her mouth into a frown. By that time, however, Jongin was already gone, steps rapid as he pulled the thin hood of his sweater further over his face. He could have any single one of the street goers; his pick of the flock at the bat of an eye and the twitch of his lips. He could have them undressed in the nearest shitty motel in less than twenty minutes, curving up to his every touch, moaning out with each foul kiss that left marks on their body and blood on his tongue. It infuriated him. He hated the harm he was made to cause, he hated the putrid stench of desperation and the unconditional arousal, he hated how each ‘partner’ left a crater in his chest, or how their scent would linger on his hands long after he disposed of the body.

This hate is what had driven him to these streets. He needed to get away, needed space to breathe and time to think. He needed things he had only experienced in his journeys to the surface, and he’d be damned (though he supposed he already was) if he was going to let a few meager humans get in his way. The problem was it was not a few mere humans at all, nor even a couple, nor a dozen. It was every single one. The evening’s chill didn’t dent the populous coursing about the city streets as he had hoped; the humans simply packed on more clothing and went about their daily routine, which Jongin was sure didn’t often involve staring at his kind unabashedly yet every time he so much as glanced up a sea of hungry eyes greeted him. On more than one occasion he had felt a hand brush over his skin, fingers digging into clothing that was far too scant for such weather. Not that the cold bothered him, but his meager attire- which had only become _his_ meager attire a few hours prior after he broke into an apartment and took it from the closet- only encouraged the stares from strangers. He knew how utterly easy he looked; chest bare under a worn hoodie, peeking out from where the zipper didn’t quite make it to the top, the jeans he had taken proving to be perhaps one size too small as they hugged every dip and curve of his legs. Despite this, he knew he was in no position to be picky, and didn’t feel like breaking into another house in the hopes that there would be more suitable clothing. So sweater and jeans it was, his jaw clenching each time he felt a hand brush his ass, or when someone would ‘accidentally’ fall into him. It was different when he was out hunting. Then, he would bask in the attention; had he been looking for a victim, he may have gone so far as to fly the hoodie’s zipper at half mast, to hell with the biting cold. As it was, he was not looking for someone to sleep with, and he sure as fuck wasn’t going to attract any more attention than he already had. 

Jongin could see the end of the street, breaking off into unlit greenery that he assumed must have been a park during the day. It was a decent spot to spend the night, quiet and secluded. His hopes of getting there without issue were dissolved as soon as they formed, a hand sneaking out from the shadows of an alley to wrap around his waist. 

“Hello, gorgeous,” a husky and very much intoxicated voice drawled into his ear, making Jongin fight down a gag, “It’s so cold out tonight, don’t you think? It would be awful nice to have someone like you to keep us warm.”

The term ‘us’ had Jongin whip his head around, past the man who currently had his arm locked around his waist, eyes searching the darkness between the buildings. Three more men loitered in the alley from what he could make out, and Jongin could easily dispose of them, but he didn’t want to make a mess, nor disrupt the people still brushing past.

“I’m not interested.” The statement was spat as Jongin pushed himself away, perhaps with more force than necessary as the brute stumbled back a few steps before regaining his balance. The man frowned, not quite comprehending how the space between the two got there, but the frown soon turned to a snarl, glancing back at the others to see that they had his back. Each one bore the trademark film over their eyes that Jongin had come to despise, unable to process anything except how to get what they wanted, and what they wanted was currently standing with crossed arms and a raised brow.

“I’m sorry,” the first man let out a chuckle, the sound harsh and humorless, “but I don’t recall asking if you were _interested_.” The distance between them shortened again as the man, with surprising swiftness, reached out his hand to grasp harshly onto Jongin’s wrist. “Now, if you don’t mind-”

“He minds.” The voice came from over Jongin’s shoulder, and he turned the best he could to peer over his shoulder, his jaw dropping at the sight. A man stood a mere few feet away, smaller than any of Jongin’s attackers, smaller than him even. He had his arms crossed, eyes set in a deep glare that would have been terrifying had the man’s cheeks not been so round, nor his mouth so soft. Jongin felt a weird sensation creep though his chest at the sight; a choking feeling that filled gaps within him that he didn’t even know he had. He could see the slight blush that crept over the man’s cheeks and ears from the cold, see the goosebumps raise each time the wind shifted, and yet the man didn’t move from his position, didn’t give the slightest clue that he was uncomfortable. Jongin hadn’t realized that he had been staring until the man spoke again, his voice akin to the breeze that whipped through the streets and sent people scurrying for cover. “And I think he just told you to fuck off.”

This time, it was the men in the alley whose jaws dropped, their eyes flicking from the stranger to their friend, waiting for someone to break the thick silence that choked the air between them. When at last someone did, it was the man who had wrapped his arm around Jongin, the man who currently held his wrist in a vice-like grip, and the only sound that came out of his mouth was thick, tipsy laughter. A few seconds went by before the others began to chuckle too, albeit uncomfortably. The man said nothing, one eyebrow raised as he waited for the laughter to subside. When it did, the brute stared at Kyungsoo long and hard, every inch of his body set in such a way that would have anyone running for safety. Anyone except the stranger, that is. Jongin watched as the two stared each other down, long enough that the film over the brute’s eyes flickered away, and in its place anger blossomed. And suddenly Jongin realized just how much he preferred the glamour, at least over the aggression bubbling in every set of eyes but his own. He pulled away slightly, not enough to escape the man’s grasp, just enough to get his attention back, to have his eyes flick once more to his face and blur slightly. People were, as Jongin had learned many times over, much easier to control when they were under glamour. He knew he could easily survive a bout with these street mongrels; the distraction was only to redirect the attention away from his ‘savior’. He was a spider; his web woven ever so carefully, the allure ever so delicate a balance, but he had practiced many times over, and held the man’s attention easily. 

The silence was oily, thick, and he could hear the stranger shift behind him, the slight sound enough to break the trance he had so carefully spun. The man blinked, eyes flicking from Jongin to the stranger as a vile grin pulled at his lips, revealing a set of rather unpleasant teeth. 

“Take care of that one, boys,” the man cooed, head tipping in the direction of the stranger, “This one’s all mine.”

That statement alone was enough to snap what little patience Jongin had left. His eyes narrowed, face darkening as he felt something hot boil in his stomach. The man didn’t seem to notice the danger he was in, however, intent on dragging Jongin into the shadows. Confusion crossed his face as he pulled, the force not enough to move Jongin from his spot. Amusement flashed across his face, and he raised his eyebrows tauntingly at the man, who scoffed and gave another harsh tug on Jongin’s arm, to no avail. If anything, the smirk on his face grew with each consecutive pull, every one harder than the last until the brute was using his entire body weight against him, growling when even that proved futile. The men in the shadows watched the struggle in befuddlement, only remembering their orders when Jongin’s eyes flicked to their baffled expressions.

They had only taken one step towards the stranger when Jongin decided they were too close, and suddenly all he could hear were his own heartbeats; a flurry of emotions ceasing all thought except how to _get them the fuck away_ from the stragner. One heartbeat, and he had ripped his hand from the man’s grasp with ease. Two more, and he had gripped the man’s arm, their positions inverse for only a moment before Jongin threw him into the alley wall, his head hitting the brick with a sickening crunch. One more, and the man collapsed down onto the dirty concrete, a trail of blood marking the stone dark red. Ten heartbeats of silence, as both the men and the stranger stared at him with wide eyes. Half a beat to grab the strangers hand and drag him away, running away from the shocked men perhaps a little more quickly than necessary. The stranger struggled to keep up with his unnatural pace, gasping and stumbling in the dark. Jongin didn’t know where he was leading them; he didn’t care, as long as it was _away_.

They were deep into the park when he finally stopped, not even winded as he looked around frantically for any dangers. The stranger dropped to his knees, panting as he waved his hand in the air.  
“You’re-” he breathed, barely able to form the word before he sucked in another breath, “you’re-”

“I’m what?” Jongin’s voice was nearly a screech, his eyes wide as he stared down at the stranger. “I’m bleeding? I’m in danger? What is it?”

The stranger breathed hard a few more times, coughing as his lungs caught up with his body. The few moments of silence was agonizing for Jongin, and he looked around again, just to make sure that nobody had followed them. “You’re breaking my hand.” 

“Oh.” Jongin looked down at where their hands interlocked, carefully loosening his grip but not letting go for another few seconds. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay.” The stranger looked him up and down, squinting in what little light made it that far into the greenery. Trees dotted the sky irregularly; patches of black among spotted sheets of stars. “Jesus, aren’t you cold? Where are your winter clothes?”

Any lie Jongin could think of dissolved on his tongue before he could speak it into existence, and he stood quietly for a second before sighing, his eyes wandering anywhere but towards the strangers face as he spoke. “I don’t have any other clothes.”

The stranger raised an eyebrow, his scoff endearing rather than offensive. “You don’t have a single piece of warmer clothing at home?”

“I don’t have a home,” Jongin spat, harsher than intended, and interrupted the man before he could speak again, “I ran away, and I’m never going back.”

It was surprisingly relieving when the stranger didn’t throw the words back at him; Jongin had been slightly worried that he had offended him with his curt tone. It was even more relieving when the man smirked, mimicking both Jongin’s tone and the ferocity that still lingered in his eyes.

“Oh?” The stranger cocked his head, eyes narrowing slightly before he began speaking, so quickly that Jongin could barely keep up. “If that’s the case, where do you plan on sleeping tonight, hm? How has the whole ‘I’m an angsty teenager, running away from home, ready to face the world’ going for you, seeing as you quite literally escaped being raped and or kidnapped? How’s that all going?”

Not once in Jongin’s many years of hunting had he ever been spoken to in such a patronizing way. He could feel his own voice rising, scoffing at the foolishness of this… human. “First of all,” he sneered, teeth gritted, “I am _not_ a teenager. Secondly, I’ll sleep wherever I damn well feel like sleeping. I’ll sleep in this park if I want to. That was my plan anyways.”

By the time he had finished speaking, Jongin’s voice had risen to the yell, which was intimidating up until the point when the stranger jumped to his feet, causing him to flinch back in fear. “This park isn’t safe at night!” The man shouted back at him, his fists balled at his sides, and Jongin felt compelled to match his volume, not caring that they were surrounded by darkness and trees and gardens.

“That’s just too bad now, isn’t it?” He had to look down slightly to match the other’s stare, surprised when he found a fountain of emotion hidden in the dark eyes. There was no glaze, no glamour; it was clear, it was living, and it was something Jongin had never seen before. It was beautiful.

“Well,” the man shot back, not noticing the way Jongin’s hard stare had turned soft, “maybe you should stay with me then!”

“Maybe I should!” There was silence following the shout, so loud that the stranger looked up at him in shock, his mouth falling open into a small ‘o’. The moment was broken just as quickly as it had formed, the man running a hand through his hair while offering the other in greeting. Jongin reached out to grasp it the second it was offered, wanting to know if his skin was as soft as it looked, and was pleased when it turned out to be. He had been in too much of a panic to notice it before, when he had quite literally dragged the man through the streets.

“Alright, let’s get going then. I’m Kyungsoo.” He started walking back the way he came, pulling Jongin along by the hand that was still tightly encircled around his own. He didn’t look back as he walked, so Jongin couldn’t look back into the deep pools of his eyes, couldn’t look at his round little mouth or his delicate lashes. The feeling had returned to his chest again, suffocating at the same time it was revitalizing. This time it was him who stumble behind awkwardly, thoughts a mess as he tried to sort through the events that had lead up to that moment. He was only snapped back to reality when Kyungsoo spoke once more, any trace of harshness vanishing from his voice. “What’s your name?”

It took Jongin a few seconds of confused blinking and opening and closing his mouth before he was able to process what he been asked, dragging his attention away from how Kyungsoo’s hand felt in his own. “Kai.” It was a white lie; one that he had used to often it practically fell from his tongue. Still, it bothered him, for some reason, to lie to Kyungsoo, especially after everything the man had already done for him, even if Jongin knew full well what dangers and implications of what the truth would entail. It bothered him the entire way to Kyungsoo’s apartment, which only took about ten minutes of walking, and it bothered him even once he was seated on the plush leather couch, Kyungsoo milling about in the kitchen behind him as they waited for the kettle to boil. 

When at last Kyungsoo sat down across from him, setting two steaming mugs of hot chocolate on the coffee table that stood between the two, Jongin opened his mouth to speak, to say anything that would fill the silence that had held them betwixt its spindle fingers. Before a single word could leave his mouth however, Kyungsoo was holding up a hand and shaking his head; the most infuriating sort of silent interruption. 

“I’m not going to try to convince you to go back to wherever you ran away from, even if I think you should,” he began, ignoring Jongin’s indignant stare, “but I do want some peace of mind that you have plans as to how you are going to survive in this world alone. Do you even have a job?” Jongin shook his head, not expecting the way the conversation was turning out. “I didn’t think so. I’m not a bleeding heart or anything, but I would feel pretty awful throwing you out on the street to fend for yourself. Don’t interrupt me.” He stared at Jongin, who had opened his mouth to speak, until he closed it again, his lips forming a pout. “That being said, I’m not stupid enough to let a stranger muck about in my apartment when I’m at work, so you can only be here when I’m home. Understood?”

Taking it as his cue to speak, Jongin nodded, letting the words sink in over the next couple seconds. “So… I can live here?” his tone was hopeful, once again noting how clear and focused Kyungsoo’s eyes were. The smile that had formed on his lips faltered when Kyungsoo grimaced, his fingers beginning to tap on the armrest of his chair.

“Live isn’t the word I would use,” he hummed, squinting suspiciously at Jongin, “more like crash, or bunk. And this is _not_ a permanent thing, okay? Just until you get a job and can live on your own.”

Nodding again, albeit more sullenly, Jongin took it upon himself to look around what space of the apartment he could see from his chair. It was small, modestly furnished, but had such a sense of home to it, the way an old sweater would, or perhaps a well-loved mug. “When do you work? _Where_ do you work?”

“I’m a professor at Hanyang University.” There seemed to be a hint of pride in Kyungsoo’s voice when he spoke, the edges of his lips curling up slightly. “I’m usually home around four thirty, but I don’t work weekends or Thursdays. Does that all sound good to you? You can use the day while I’m away to make yourself useful. I’m sure there are plenty of places hiring teenagers.”

Jongin fought down the urge to remind Kyungsoo once again that he was not a teenager, focused rather on the fact that Kyungsoo had yet to say anything about costs or debts or rent. Money was something easily acquired by someone- some _thing_ \- like Jongin; he could have bills thrown at him with a simple flick of his tongue or any one of his trademark giggles. Not all debts, however, were paid back in money. He knew that well enough already, yet Kyungsoo hadn’t given him so much as a glance to indicate that he wanted something _more_ , and it was confusing Jongin to no end. 

“Do I…” he began, uncertainty lacing his words, “Do I have to pay you for any of this? Not that I would be opposed, I mean, you are doing so much for me. But I would rather that I know ahead of time.”

Frowning, Kyungsoo stared at his drink, which sat forgotten, cooling on the wooden table between them. When at last his gaze met Jongin’s, it was gentle, not a single ounce of malice held in his soft eyes. “You have to help me clean.” He smirked at the surprise that twitched on Jongin’s features; a mixture of bafflement and disbelief. “And you have to promise me that you’ll look for a job.”

“Deal.” The word was said quickly; a reflex of sorts. After a moment, once Jongin's thoughts caught up to him, his lips formed a lopsided frown, eyes cast downwards to study the intricate patterns of the hardwood floor. “I don’t deserve you.” He hadn’t meant to say it aloud, but it had felt good once it was said. He looked up at Kyungsoo, vision blurring slightly. He felt his throat tighten, felt the air fighting to get past his trembling lips, and for a moment wondered if something was wrong with him. This was something new; he had never felt so vulnerable before, and no matter how hard he tried to stop himself, his breaths grew more and more uneven. It was as if there was a balloon in his chest, and with each gasp of air it grew, until it was pressing on his lungs, his heart, threatening to burst from his ribs. What was _happening_ to him?

“Oh my god, are… are you crying?” Kyungsoo’s voice brought him out of his daze, but when he looked up to see him, when he tried to peer into his eyes in search of reassurance, the whole world looked fuzzy, distorted. Only Kyungsoo’s voice resounded in his head, clear, like his eyes had been. “Kai, what’s wrong? Why are you- stop crying, okay? Take a deep breath.”

Jongin followed Kyungsoo’s instructions, taking one deep breath after another, but the blurriness of his vision didn’t subside, and he looked up frantically at the smudge that was Kyungsoo. “I can’t see.”

To his surprise, Kyungsoo laughed, one hand coming up to muffle the sounds bubbling from his mouth. “Blink your eyes.”

Once again, Jongin followed his orders, the world thankfully becoming clearer with each blink. He had seen people cry before, some in bed, some on the street, one even on the bus, a phone pressed to her ear. He had not, however, experienced it himself, and oh how utterly wretched it felt. He watched the tears drip onto his hands, lying uselessly on his lap, and the only thing they seemed to do was drain him, to take away his energy rather than the grey inside of him. He wanted it gone, and in his desperation recalled just a few moments before, when speaking his thoughts had helped, if only a little. 

“I’m so bad,” he tried, sniffling, “and you’re so good. You should have left me on the street. I’m a demon, and you don’t deserve that. I’m sorry.”

“Kai, look at me.” Kyungsoo waited until his order was obeyed before continuing, eyes gentle but firm, “You are _not_ a demon. It’s been a long day, and I’m sure you’re tired. Get some sleep and you’ll feel better in the morning, okay?”

Had Jongin been able to find humor in how wrong Kyungsoo was, he would have likely laughed at the statement. As it was, he could only nod, continuing to stare into his lap as Kyungsoo rose to find some sheets and a pillow. It did, as he had hoped, make him feel better to let what was inside out, even if Kyungsoo didn’t believe him. By the time he came back, his arms full of linen, Jongin had fallen asleep, slumped over the coffee table while his mug lay on the ground, its chocolatey contents spilled over the floor around it. Kyungsoo stared at the mess for a moment before sighing, setting down the pile of blankets beside his new, and now unconscious, house guest, before puttering to the kitchen to grab a cloth.

“Just a few days,” he assured himself, watching the cloth soak up the cooled liquid, “He’ll be gone by then, right? Right.” Sitting back, Kyungsoo watched Jongin’s sleeping form, his chest rising and falling slowly. He sighed. “Just a few days.”


	2. Sake and Safety

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kyungsoo is a _what?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not surprisingly, I am posting this when I am dead tired. Surprisingly though, I am actually dead tired because I woke up really early instead of stay up really late. ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯ I like to mix it up a little sometimes I guess.

Jongin didn’t like lying to Kyungsoo. In fact, he utterly hated it, which is why it surprised him with each lie that rolled off his tongue, and surprised him even more at the ease of it all. The first lie he had told was his name. That, Jongin would convince himself, was completely understandable given the situation. The second was repeated every couple of days, when Kyungsoo would ask “Have you found a job yet?” and Jongin would reply “No”. That one was simply because he wanted to spend more time in Kyungsoo’s house; he didn’t want to give the impression that he could live alone. In reality, finding a job had been almost comically easy. A flutter of the eyes, a darling smile, and bam; he was a waiter. He could have easily gotten money anywhere he wanted; stolen it, slept with someone for it, even glamoured one of the many rich men and women walking about the streets of the city. But Kyungsoo had asked him to find a job, so find a job he did, and any money that came his way was legitimate. He kept it stored in a shoe box at the bottom of his locker at work, secure from both greedy hands and Kyungsoo’s eyes. Even if he wasn’t a materialistic person, earning it had given him a sense of pride, not to mention that the restaurant filled the long hours when Kyungsoo was away.

The third, and perhaps Jongin’s favourite of lies was the moment when he agreed to staying no longer than a couple days under Kyungsoo’s roof. Those ‘couple of days’ had turned into a week, and that week into many. It had gotten to the point where Kyungsoo was accustomed to seeing Jongin waiting at his doorstep when he came home from work, and even grew slightly worried when he wasn’t there. Even if he wouldn’t admitted, it was nice to have someone waiting for him, to have someone ask how his day went and listen intently to any stories that he wanted to share. Having Jongin was like having a pet, and eventually he stopped asking when he was going to move out, when he was going to find a job, not because Kyungsoo didn’t care, but because he didn’t want him to. 

There were little lies, as well, countless of them. Like when Kyungsoo asked Jongin how old he was, and Jongin subtracted a century from his actual age, the final number fitting quite nicely as a few years younger than Kyungsoo. Or perhaps when Kyungsoo asked what Jongin had done before he ran away, and his only answer was a gruff ‘I was a student’ before Jongin looked away, uncomfortable. Kyungsoo, for the most part, never pushed any topic that made the other uneasy; he didn’t like the silence that followed, nor the way Jongin would fiddle with the hem of his shirt, refusing to meet his eyes. Still, there were some topics that, no matter the amount of frowning or fiddling, Kyungsoo couldn’t seem to let go.

“I just don’t see why you are so opposed to meeting them.” He was glaring daggers into the back of Jongin’s head, the latter of which was too busy washing dishes to notice. “They’re my friends, and it would mean a lot to me if you all met.”

“I don’t like meeting new people.” Jongin’s voice was soft, noting the obvious irritation and not so obvious pain in Kyungsoo’s words. “It never ends well.” He paused. “Aside from you, that is.”

“Can’t you do this one thing for me?” Kyungsoo was pleading, something he rarely did, and the notion made Jongin’s stomach churn. It was too hard to say no without an explanation, without laying out just how horribly things could, and would, go. And that, Jongin decided, was a can of worms he did not want to open up. “When do I ever ask you for things?”

“Fine,” he snapped, throwing the pot onto the drying rack with perhaps more force than necessary, “I’ll meet your friends, okay? Stop guilt tripping me.”

No sooner had he said the words than he felt a pair of arms circle around his waist tightly, Kyungsoo’s voice higher than normal as he squeaked out a “thank you”. The action made Jongin freeze, hands clutching onto the sink’s edge tightly, even after Kyungsoo skipped away. It was only his voice that brought him out of his trance, his wide eyes coming back into focus.

“You should get ready, then.” Kyungsoo’s voice was mischievous. “They should be here in a couple minutes.”

Jongin’s jaw fell open as he spun to face Kyungsoo, not care about the soapy water that dripped onto the floor from his hands. “You son of a –“

“No swearing.” Kyungsoo held up a finger, its firmness dissipated by the smug grin on his face. He shooed Jongin out of the kitchen, pushing him in the direction of the bedroom. “Go put on some actual clothes. No pajamas.”

Even if the two didn’t sleep in the same room, Kyungsoo had insisted on keeping what little clothing Jongin had in his closet. His collection was slowly growing, consisting of a few shirts and pants Kyungsoo had bought him, and the outfit he had on when they had met. Even if Kyungsoo insisted on buying him clothes, Jongin was determined not to make the other spend money on him. As such, he paid back Kyungsoo discretely, leaving bills in his wallet every couple of days. It was slow, but it was safe, and Jongin found himself continuing the practice long after the last dollar had been returned. 

Selecting one of the more casual tops in his collection, Jongin quickly stripped from his pajamas, pulling on his jeans just as a resounding knock came from the other room. He froze for a moment, his eyes locked on Kyungsoo’s door and whatever danger lurked behind it. He could hear excited talking, hear Kyungsoo ask if their guests wanted anything to drink, and chipper voices say they brought something to drink. Jongin was content to sit on the bed all evening, just listening to the conversation rather than partaking in it, but soon Kyungsoo was hammering on his door, and Jongin could hear the annoyance in his voice as he demanded him to the living room.

It was a rather strange sight to see; someone taller than Kyungsoo shuffling right on his heel, trying to shrink behind his small frame. The guests, however, didn’t notice, holding up a bottle and wiggling it. Jongin assumed that that was what they had meant when they said they brought drinks over.

“Isn’t it a little early for alcohol?” With a final push in the direction of the living room, Kyungsoo abandoned Jongin, his footsteps padding their way to the kitchen.

“It happens to be precisely seven thirty three in the evening, my dear Kyungsoo.” Neither guest had so much as looked in Jongin’s direction, which he was thankful for, and he sat silently on one of the overstuffed chairs, his preferred seat of the couch taken up by the guests. Never before had he wanted to disappear so badly. “Which means that it is precisely one hundred and fifty three minutes after five o’clock, so no, it is not too early for alcohol.”

A disgruntled sound came from the kitchen, which seemed to be enough for the guests, and they finally looked towards Jongin, who dared not raise his eyes to meet their own. 

“Oh.” It was a soft sound, but Jongin flinched at it anyways. He could feel their eyes on him, unwavering. He had known it would happen, known the faint glamour that would still take hold even if he didn’t as much as look in their direction. Blinking, the guests frowned, trying to make sense of the clearly uncomfortable boy sitting in front of them. “You’re Kai, right? Kyungsoo has told me so much about you. I’m Baekhyun.” The smaller reached out his hand, leaning over the coffee table slightly, inching closer. “This is my boyfriend Chanyeol.”

As not to be rude, Jongin shook the man’s hand quickly, letting go the moment he felt the other’s grasp tighten. He nodded at the taller one- Chanyeol- rather than offer his own hand, but the action caused him to look up, to see the vile film that washed out both set of eyes on him. He tensed when he heard Chanyeol speak; the words extended into a slurred drawl that dripped heavily of intoxication. “Hey, Kai…”

He didn’t, thankfully, get to finish whatever vile thought had crossed his mind, as Kyungsoo walked into the living room, tray of glasses in hand. A brief frown crossed his face as he took in the scene; blatantly staring guests, an obviously uncomfortable Jongin, and the unopened bottle of liquor between them. “I hope you aren’t trying to convince him to get drunk with you,” he accused, placing the tray down beside the bottle and breaking the wiry ropes of tension strung between the three.

“Of course not,” Baekhyun grinned, his eyes focusing slightly as he blinked up at his host, “Hey, Soo.” His whisper was at all in no way quiet, allowing all four of them to hear the mock discretion. “I know you said he was good looking, but I didn’t think he was _this_ good looking.”

Kyungsoo floundered for a moment, mouth opening and closing as he glanced from Baekhyun to Jongin, the only words he finally settled on being, “Shut up.”

“I’m just saying,” Baekhyun continued in his loud whisper, looking over at Jongin with a sly smirk, “You hit the jackpot, man.”

“I will throw you out of my house.”

“ _Our_ house.”

“Baekhyun,” Jongin interrupted, not able to take the embarrassment anymore, “That’s enough.”

There was silence as Baekhyun stared at the two, blinking. There had been a quality to Jongin’s voice, a haze, so strong the even Chanyeol sighed a little. “Of course,” he breathed, sitting back in his against the couch much to Kyungsoo’s relief. “I apologize.”

“Let’s drink.” Jongin reached forward to unscrew the cap of the bottle, ignoring Kyungsoo’s pointed stare as he poured a lot into their house guests’ cups, and a little into their own. The four of them toasted, two wincing at the awful taste while the others downed it all too merrily. Jongin shared a look with Kyungsoo, slight disgust twisting their features, and he rose, grabbing both of their glasses and heading to the kitchen to fill them with water instead. 

“More for us,” Baekhyun sang, pouring himself and Chanyeol another shot. Kyungsoo simply sighed, accustomed to yet no less exasperated at his friends’ antics. “So, Kai.” Baekhyun’s voice had a sticky sweet melody to it, one that Jongin had heard many times before. “What do you do for a living? Are you a model?” Jongin shook his head, reaching down to tug absentmindedly at a loose thread of his shirt. “Actor?”

Kyungsoo looked between the two, watching Jongin’s hands work away at the thread, “Kai doesn’t do any-”

“I’m a waiter.” Jongin hated the way Kyungsoo’s mouth dropped, hated how his head snapped in his direction, hated how his eyes burned into the side of his face. “I work at a restaurant a couple blocks away.”

“Ah.” Baekhyun nodded in understanding, waving his finger in approval. “That makes sense. You probably get so many tips.” He giggled at Jongin’s shrug, leaning back heavily into his chair. “Don’t be modest. With a face like that, I’m sure you’re drowning in spare change.”

Jongin shrugged again, the four falling into a charge silence that was only interrupted by Kyungsoo standing. “I’m going to the bathroom.” His voice was hard, his eyes never leaving Jongin’s face, and it made him feel absolutely despicable. He watched Kyungsoo’s retreating form, his body stiff as he stomped out of the living room. 

“Are you and Kyungsoo a thing?”

The question came from Chanyeol, surprisingly, and Jongin had been distracted, so it took him a moment before he answered. “No.”

“Come _on_ , Kai,” Baekhyun slurred, leaning heaving on the coffee table with his elbows, “It’s _so_ obvious. You can’t hide anything from us; we’re super sleuths.”

Though there wasn’t a single moment that Jongin could recall that made it look like they were together, he graced the comment with no more than a narrowing of his eyes, blaming it on the half empty bottle of liquor sitting precariously on the edge of the table. “I’m telling the truth. I don’t think we would work out. We’re… too different.” 

He jumped at the sound of Baekhyun slapping his hands on the table, glaring at Jongin the best a drunk person could. “Hey,” he hiccuped, perhaps a little too loudly, “don’t be like that. You gotta accept Kyungsoo for who he is, okay? Just because he’s asexual doesn’t mean you guys can’t have a deep, loving relationship. It’s not all about the sex, you know.”

Jongin’s jaw dropped. He raked the words over his mind multiple times before he could process them, for once leaning closer to Baekhyun. When he spoke, his voice was a whisper, fingers splayed on the wooden table. “Kyungsoo is _what_?”

“Ay-sex-yoo-al,” Baekhyun spelled out, nodding to himself, “Even if you guys never _do the do_ , you should give him a chance. He never stops talking about you. I could probably pinpoint the exact day you two met, because these past few months I can’t go a day without hearing your name. Isn’t that right, Channie? Oh, look. Chanyeol fell asleep.” Baekhyun giggled, leaning back to curl against his boyfriend’s side. 

“That… explains so much,” Jongin breathed, in awe, though it was more to himself than anyone else. Baekhyun didn’t even seem to hear him, snuggling closer into Chanyeol’s side. It didn’t take long for his breaths to become even, and Jongin abandoned the sleeping duo, stopping in front of the bathroom door. He took a deep breath before knocking, willing himself to still his trembling hands. For a moment, he was convinced that Kyungsoo wasn’t going to open the door, and almost turned to leave, but at once the door swung open, the bathroom light spilling onto the dark floor. 

“Did they pass out on the couch?” Kyungsoo guessed, sighing at Jongin’s nod. “Come on then.”

As directed, Jongin followed Kyungsoo into his room, stopping to eye both the large bed pushed up against on wall and its owner suspiciously. He was half convinced it was some kind of trick, or test, trying to prove that he didn’t deserve to live with Kyungsoo any longer.

“Just for tonight.” He barely registered Kyungsoo’s words, stepping closer on autopilot until his knees bumped the edge of the mattress. It was all too much, for some reason; a combination of Kyungsoo looking up at him expectantly, the stark contrast between the bed and the couch, the comforter pulled back to reveal the clean and tightly made sheets. And Jongin could feel that damned emotion gurgle in his chest again, the one that made his heart stammer and his mouth go dry.

“I need to brush my teeth.” Jongin’s voice was a squeak, the words said in a blur, and then he was gone, shutting the bathroom door quickly and leaning back against it. One hand came up to press against his chest, feeling the frantic thudding of his heart against his ribs. It was only once he had calmed down that he actually did get ready for bed, making sure to make every action as loud as possible. He stomped back into the bedroom with his head held high, not even looking at Kyungsoo as he pulled some sweatpants and a tank top from the closet, disappearing into the bathroom once more. When at last he deemed himself ready- physically, at least- he marched towards the bed as confidently as he could muster. Kyungsoo had watched him flutter about between the rooms with a slightly amused expression, only truly settling in once Jongin had pulled the covers over himself and flicked off the light.

It was odd, sleeping in the same bed as someone after so many years alone. The bed was warmer than usual, but there was also a sense of comfort in it, of realizing that there was someone sleeping, breathing, existing, just a few inches away. They laid in silence, until the minutes bled together and the once dark room lightened under the adjustment of their eyes. Kyungsoo glanced over, making sure the other was awake before speaking.

“Kai?” The other hummed in response, rolling over slightly to face Kyungsoo. His eyes were still closed, but his features twitched every so often, signifying that he was at least semi-conscious. “Why didn’t you tell me you had a job?”

There was another silence, deep set and long enough that Kyungsoo wondered if the other had fallen back into slumber. He realized, at that point, that there would be no escaping the discussion. Kyungsoo had efficiently caged him, trapped beneath both the fluffy duvet and the crushing burden of his own lies. Finally he sighed, one eye cracked open. “I didn’t want to give you any reason to think I should move out.” His words were slurred, sleepiness dragging what once were crisp syllables into a sort of mush. “I thought that if I pretended to still be helpless, you would be inclined to care for me longer. I’m sorry.”

“You should have talked to me about it.” There was a pout to Kyungsoo’s words, and Jongin could imagine the way his pretty lips were turned down in disappointment, even if he couldn’t see them. “I don’t like it when you lie to me. I want you to trust me.”

“I trust you.” Jongin reached out to grab Kyungsoo’s arm, his hold almost desperate. “I trust you more than anyone in the world. Please, don’t think that this is your fault. It’s entirely on me. I was scared.”

“You have nothing to be scared of,” Kyungsoo whispered, and Jongin nearly winced at just how wrong he was. 

“I’ll try.” He could barely get out the words, “I’ll try to be more honest in the future, more open. It’s hard for me, but I know you deserve at least that.”

Jongin didn’t like lying to Kyungsoo. In fact, he utterly hated it, so much so that he decided to stop. At least, to stop as much as he could. Before, he had lied to protect himself. Now, any held back truth or made up story would be purely for Kyungsoo’s sake and safety. Even if it meant putting himself in danger.

“Kai isn’t my real name.” The words were opposite to those said prior; crystalline without a smudge of exhaustion. He felt Kyungsoo tense under his fingertips, but was determined to ignore it, to continue on with what needed to be said. “My real name is Jongin.” 

It felt vile to say it, horrendously shattering in every way possible. It clawed up his throat, tore through his chest, burned like every cell in his body had ruptured. It fucking _hurt_. He had expected no less. 

Kyungsoo opened his mouth, perhaps to try the name on his tongue, but Jongin lunged forward, pressing a hand over his parted lips. “ _Don’t say it_ ,” he hissed, eyes wide in the low light, “Please, don’t say it.” He leaned back only once Kyungsoo had nodded, his eyes filled with confusion and slight fear. “I want you to never tell anyone, never say it aloud, not even to me.” Kyungsoo nodded again, even if he didn’t understand, and for that Jongin was more grateful than he could ever express. “I’m only telling you because I promised I would be honest. And,” his mouth twisted, jaw clenching in the dark, “in case of an emergency. In case I ever… just in case.”

“You’re scaring me.” Kyungsoo’s voice was impossibly soft, and he pulled away, his arm falling from Jongin’s grasp. “I know there is something you aren’t telling me, _Kai_.”

Kyungsoo’s words, his tone, hurt more than saying his name had. Jongin swallowed, staring up at the ceiling to avoid his accusing stare. “Yeah, there is,” he breathed, not daring to look in the direction of the other, “but I can’t tell you. I’m keeping both of us safe, you just have to trust me.”

“How can I trust you?” It surprised Jongin; the falter to Kyungsoo’s voice, the way the words were said just too loud and just too unevenly. And suddenly his world was spinning out of control, the only thought dominating his mind being how to fix what he had broken. “Do I even know you? How much more are you hiding from me? How can I even begin to trust you?”

“Anything.” Jongin’s voice was desperate, wanting to reach out but holding back, lest he scare Kyungsoo off any farther. “I’ll do anything, Kyungsoo, please. I can’t stand not telling you everything, but I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if you were put in danger because of me.” Each word seemed to hold more truth than the last, and it felt good, to say what had been on his mind for the past few weeks. It was gutting, yes, and he trembled from the vulnerability, but he didn’t stop, not when Kyungsoo was on the line. “I’ll do anything to keep you safe, even if it means you hate me.”

“I don’t hate you.” This time it was Kyungsoo who reached out beneath the covers, fingers trailing down Jongin’s arm to slip comfortably into his hand. “I just want to know who you are.”

“You already know,” Jongin murmured, pulling him closer, “I’m yours.”


	3. Lost and Found

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Did you really think that we wouldn’t be able to find you? That _I_ wouldn’t be able to find you?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It was such a short time ago that IOFT ended and now this child of mine is almost all done as well ;_; They grow up so fast.  
> I always seem to leave way too much to be resolved for the final chapter lmao  
> I actually really adore this chapter. It was just so easy to write and just the way I wanted it to be <3  
> Also have you guys noticed that I am actually using chapter titles and summaries? Oolala fancy

Jongin had woken up alone. It wasn’t an unusual occurrence; ever since he started sleeping in Kyungsoo’s bed those fateful few weeks prior, he would often awake to find the bed empty, its other occupant having left for work at a nearly ungodly hour. He squinted in the morning light, ruffling his already messed up hair. He didn’t usually wake up until noon, and a quick glance at the clock had told him that it was, in fact, four hours before noon. Something felt wrong; he supposed that was what had woken him from his slumber so early. It was a shift in the air, a charge that lingered on his tongue, a _presence_. He wasn’t usually supposed to call Kyungsoo when he was at work, but the damned feeling wouldn’t go away, and he soon found himself punching the familiar numbers into the keypad of his phone. 

“Hello?”

“Kyungsoo.” Jongin found a grin coming onto his face just from the sound of his voice. It felt so good to talk to him, to be with him. It made every cell in his body sing, each moment making him more and more glad of his decision to leave. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine. Why, is something wrong?” Even through the slight distortion the phone gave Kyungsoo’s voice, there was clear worry in it, and Jongin suddenly felt guilty for calling. He hated distracting Kyungsoo from his job, especially considering it was something he so obviously loved to do. 

“Of course not.” Still uneasy, Jongin rubbed at his chest, trying to rid himself of the tension held within it. “I just wanted to hear your voice.” That part was at least half true.

“Cute.” He could nearly feel Kyungsoo’s grin through the phone, his own lips mirroring the action. “But I do have to go though. I’ll see you when I get home.”

Jongin hummed, saying one quick goodbye before ending the call. He let himself fall back onto the mattress, clutching his phone to his chest. He was exhausted, and the feeling still hadn’t gone away, but he could at least take comfort in the fact that Kyungsoo was safe. It was enough, for now, to allow him to slip mercifully back into unconsciousness, his dreams plagued by dark figures and choking sobs.

By the time Jongin opened his eyes again, the sun was no longer visible through their bedroom window; sitting proudly at its peak in the sky above. Jongin clicked on his phone, which had miraculously stayed in his grasp through his fitful rest, his eyes widening as they processed the digits. 1:53.

“Shit,” he breathed, calculating if he could make it to work in seven minutes, “ _shit._ ”

He wasn’t sure when his job had become so important to him. He didn’t need it, and it certainly wasn’t high on the list of things he enjoyed doing. Perhaps it was simply something to do, perhaps he liked the act of acquiring things without having to steal them. More likely, though, was that it just felt so good to be able to give. Every dollar he earned went straight to Kyungsoo, despite his reluctance. It had become a sensitive topic, and had spouted more than one argument between the two.

“Kai,” Kyungsoo had snarled, gripping the edge of the counter fiercely, “I don’t want your money. Keep it for yourself, throw it away, I don’t care. If this is some sort of guilt thing, give it up; you’re making me feel worse. How many times do I have to tell you? You don’t owe me anything.”

“You’ve given me everything!” Kyungsoo flinched at the sound of Jongin’s hands slamming down on the counter, then once more at his shout, “Everything. I would be nowhere without you, Soo, can’t you see that? I don’t need money. I need you and I need to know that I am doing everything in my power to make your life as easy as possible. You can think of it as me paying rent, I don’t care. Just please, take it. I don’t need it. I don’t _want_ it.”

Kyungsoo stared at him, the envelope sitting peacefully in the charged space between them. The world stopped for that moment, neither daring to break the thick quiet that had settled over the room. Then, as if it drained him, Kyungsoo sighed, reaching out to slide the envelope towards himself. He took one more last exasperated look at Jongin before stalking out of the room, both silently vowing to not bring up the subject again. 

It took precisely six minutes for Jongin to get dressed and brush his teeth, one to run down the stairwell and out onto the street, and sixteen to push past the crowded sidewalks, stumbling into the darkened atmosphere of the restaurant. The moment he stepped in he could feel it; the tension in the atmosphere that had been bothering him all day. It seemed to be thicker, more concentrated, and he fought down a gag, his nose scrunching. He looked around, hoping nobody saw his ungraceful entrance, and frowned. The restaurant was empty. There wasn’t a single person sitting at the tables, and there wasn’t the usual sound of bickering chefs coming from the kitchen. There was no one. 

“Kai.” A voice came from his left, owned by one of the hostesses that he hadn’t bothered to learn the name of. “You’re right on time.”

A check of his phone decided that he was, most definitely, not on time. “Are we closed today?”

“There is a man here for you.” She smiled prettily, not acknowledging that he had even spoken. She held up her arms, indicating for him to walk, as if he was just another customer. “Right this way, sir.”

Her voice had a slur to it, a magical sort of lilt that he had heard all too often. It was then that he looked up at her face, his stomach churning at the sight of her dull, glazed eyes. “What’s going on?”

She smiled again, blinking at him blankly. “Right this way, sir,” she sung again, raising her arms in a similar fashion as she had before. Fighting down the urge to bolt out of the restaurant entirely, Jongin swallowed, following her through the dim maze of tables and chairs. She lead him far into the restaurant, to a booth nestled against the back wall. A man sat there; the only other person in the building. His back was to them, but Jongin froze, recognizing the shaved head and powerful scent of _wrongness_ emanating from the man immediately.

At the sound of their footsteps, the guest turned, and Jongin’s suspicions were correct as he took in features he had longed to forget. Dangerously dark eyes regarded him with amusement, full lips pulled into a smirk. One eyebrow had lines cut into it, matching the scar that interrupted his buzzed hairline, inching up the man’s skull. He was beautiful, cruelly so, and it was only fair that his voice match. “Sit down.”

The man tilted his head, indicating the seat across from him in the booth. Without so much as a look back, the hostess walked away, leaving the two of them alone. There was no option but to obey, Jongin settling into the uncomfortable seat stiffly.  
“It’s been a while, _Jongin_.” 

Jongin shuddered at the sound his name, looking at the table between them instead of meeting the other’s gaze. There was a glass sitting untouched on the wood, half full of ice and what he assumed to be whiskey. The man seemed to be playing with it rather than drinking it, the many rings adorning his fingers glinting as he swirled the ice around. “Let’s not play that game, Yi Fan.”

There was a slight satisfaction in the way the man’s face twisted at his own name, even if the reaction was brief; his face resuming its impassive mask just as quickly as it had been dissolved. He was completely stoic, the apathy clear on his face, but Jongin knew the syllables likely had greater effect than the other was willing to let on. The man cocked his head slightly, the piercings in his ears glinting.

“You’ve gone on quite the adventure,” Yi Fan began, and Jongin could feel his eyes on his face, taste his pollution in the air, “Tell me, did you really think that we wouldn’t be able to find you? That _I_ wouldn’t be able to find you?”

“It may have crossed my mind once or twice.” Jongin shrugged, one eyebrow raised as a smirk played across his face. “It did take you quite a while, though. How long has it been? Almost a year now?”

“Eleven months and thirteen days.” Yi Fan regarded him coldly, his eyes narrowing. Jongin clenched and unclenched his fists beneath the table, feeling his body tremble under the weight of the stare. “I was, if I’m being honest, rather in awe with your ability to hide yourself; it was quite impressive. Cowardly, but impressive.”

“I hid because I didn’t want to be found.” The words came out as a snarl, and the glass on the table shook slightly, the vibrations buzzing through the air. “I hid because I wanted to rid myself of my past and any memories that came with it, including you.”

“Irrelevant.” Yi Fan waved a hand in the air, effectively dismissing anything Jongin had said. It infuriated him. “You have a job to do, a quota to fill. You’ve been neglecting it far long enough.”

“No.” Jongin leaned forward, teeth bared as his fingers splayed on the table. The words were enough to force down the fear, replacing it with an angry sort of desperation. He was, in a sense, an animal backed into the corner, threatening to lash out at any given moment. “No. I’m done with that. I don’t give a fuck about your quotas. I quit, I’m done. _I’m not going back._ ”

The final word was growled with a force that rippled out through the restaurant, tables and chairs shifting further away from the pair. The glass between them let out a pained sound, cracks spider webbing up the sides. Yi Fan was quiet for a moment, picking up the glass delicately and examining it. “Why?” he mused, not looking at Jongin as he spoke, “Are you having too much fun here? Are you enjoying playing with your little toy human?” He smirked when Jongin gasped, his eyes widening in mock innocence. “What, you thought I didn’t know about that?” He laughed, the sound harsh and void of any humor. “Do not be foolish. He is a waste of time, Jongin; he has pulled you from the path you were meant to be on. He’s _useless_.”

“I love him.” The words were out before Jongin could stop them, and suddenly all he could think about was Kyungsoo; the way he laughed, the way he felt under his fingertips, the way he made _that one feeling_ bloom in Jongin’s chest each time he so much as looked his way. And it was only now that Jongin could admit to himself that it was love, and it made each stuttered heartbeat, each shaky breath and nervous blush all worth it. He loved Kyungsoo. He loved how out of control he felt whenever he was near, he loved falling asleep in his arms, he loved how his eyes never failed to settle him, and how they were always focused, always clear and deep and beautiful. “I _love_ him.”

“You were not made for love.” Yi Fan set the glass back down on the table, sliding it towards Jongin. Instinctively, he reached out to stop it, and it shattered at his touch, ice and liquor spilling out over the wood. “You were made for destruction.”

Jongin stared with wide, vulnerable eyes at the mess he had made, barely daring to breathe lest be break something else. Had he not been careful? Yi Fan watched him intently, tapping his fingers against the table, and suddenly the broken pieces of glass were Kyungsoo’s body, and the whiskey was his blood. Jongin blinked, desperately trying to rid himself of the hallucination. His hands shook as he reached out to touch the red liquid, telling himself that it should feel cold despite it being warm and viscous against his finger. 

“That is your purpose, Jongin.” Yifan's voice was low, powerful, letting Jongin suffer the mirage for a moment longer before removing it, so that the glass was once again nothing more than glass, and the liquid on the table was thin and golden. “And it is about time that you remembered it.”

He reached out to cup Jongin’s jaw roughly, tugging so that he was forced to look into his eyes. His nails dug harshly into the skin, promises of bruises already dotting up under the touch. Jongin, however, couldn’t feel the pain, he could only feel the bliss, the floating, feel his body going limp as a voice cooed at him from somewhere inside his head. It told him to relax, to let his mind slip into the black that threatened to overtake him. He wanted so badly to obey, it would feel _so good_ to obey, but one thought had him stubbornly stuck in his consciousness, one thought grounded him enough to fight back the thick blanket of darkness, if only momentarily. Kyungsoo.

“You won’t lay a finger on him,” Jongin snarled, the action seeming to take so much energy. Yi Fan’s grip on his jaw tightened, but for once, a smile tugged at his lips, cold and cruel and utterly delicious.

“No,” he breathed, feeling Jongin lean into his touch as the last of the fight left his body, “but you will.”


	4. The Devil in the Details

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What... are you?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SUFFERING (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧  
> (but really, by now, could you expect anything less from me?)  
> I am SO exhausted right now ugh. For someone who loves sleep you'd think I would sleep more. meh.  
> Also, I mentioned it before, but this chapter DOES have violence in it. hmu if you would like specifics; I don't want to spoil anything on the notes.

Kyungsoo tapped his fingers against the steering wheel as he drove, anxious to get home. He was exhausted, the early mornings catching up with him, and he’d like nothing better than to collapse onto his couch, mug in one hand and Jongin in the other. Jongin. Ever since he had called that morning, Kyungsoo couldn’t stop thinking about him. They both knew the rules when it came to calling him at work- only in an emergency- and the fact that Jongin had said that he simply wanted to hear his voice was unnerving. Kyungsoo could tell when the other was hiding things from him, and though he was usually content to let it slide, this particular instance had stuck in Kyungsoo’s mind deep enough to bother him all day. 

There was no one waiting for him at the door when he got home. That wasn’t particularly worrying; Kyungsoo had had a second key to his apartment made, and had gifted the item to Jongin on the six month anniversary of the day they met. It was more for convenience than sentiment, but Jongin had cradled the tiny piece of metal in both hands gingerly, adoration sparkling in his eyes. The memory was fond, and Kyungsoo caught himself smiling as he slid his own key into the door, pushing it open with a soft _whoosh_.

After setting his bags and coat down in the living room, Kyungsoo turned his attention to the kitchen, frowning at the food, or lack thereof, in their fridge. He needed to go shopping. He supposed he could go that evening, but Jongin often liked to accompany him, making an adventure out of the market’s aisles. As of the moment, Jongin was nowhere to be found, not having picked up his phone when Kyungsoo dialed his number. 

A sound brushed his ears; the barest of shuffles, and suddenly there was a presence in the room, looming just in the corner of Kyungsoo’s vision. He spun, knocking a carton of milk to the ground as he pressed a hand against his heart, his eyes wide.

“Fuck,” he breathed, shaking his head, “you scared me.” Jongin didn’t answer, nor did he move from his position. He was completely still, to the point where it was eerie, unnatural. Kyungsoo met his eyes, frowning. There was something about them that was… off. He had seen such a look before; when Baekhyun had taken a few too many shots, or when Chanyeol would make bets on how many days he could go without sleep. Neither instance seemed probable. “Kai? Are you okay?”

Neither broke eye contact as Kyungsoo leaned down to pick the milk up off the floor, the hum of the fridge the only sound between them. Kyungsoo repeated his question again, or maybe he simply thought the words, because the sound didn’t reach his ears and Jongin didn’t give any indication of having heard him. He simply stared; stared like those men had almost a year ago, stared like he was hungry. Kyungsoo reached out, closing the distance between him with trembling fingers. For a moment, all he felt was Jongin’s skin, for a moment everything was ok. 

Then the moment was gone, and the world was spinning until his back connected with the hardwood, his head following suit a fraction of a second later with a loud crack. Jongin gripped his wrist, his hold threatening to snap the delicate bones as Kyungsoo’s arm twisted painfully. He tried to scream, but found there was no air in his lungs; it had all been knocked out the moment he made contact with the floor. Straddling his waist, Jongin at last released his hold on Kyungsoo’s arm, the limb thumping to the ground uselessly. Kyungsoo blinked, trying to speak, but before the words were formed Jongin’s lips were on his own, sucking out what little air he had managed to pull into his bruised lungs. Kyungsoo coughed, hands pushing feebly against his chest but doing nothing to remove the weight bearing down on him. Jongin’s lips moved to his jaw, his neck, sucking and biting until blood dotted the once pristine flesh. Kyungsoo cried out weakly, writhing in pain, but Jongin’s hands pressed firmly against his shoulders, holding him in place. 

“Stop,” Kyungsoo croaked, his hands fisting in Jongin’s hair and pulling harshly. With a hiss, Jongin arched back, and Kyungsoo paled at what his face had become. His eyes were no longer his own; they were completely black, depthless, his gaze empty and cold. Blood, Kyungsoo’s blood, dribbled from his lips, and he bared his teeth, which had extended into long, sharp points. Sounds, inhuman and sickly, poured from his mouth he struggled against Kyungsoo’s grip on his hair, growls rumbling in his chest.

The sight of it all, of what Jongin had become, shocked Kyungsoo enough for his grip to falter, and Jongin lunged forward again, kissing and biting and devouring. One hand pinned Kyungsoo’s wrists above his head, pressing the joints painfully into the floor. The other wandered up his body, a trail of bloody scratches pooling in its wake. It stopped at Kyungsoo’s neck, tightening around the windpipe experimentally. Kyungsoo choked and coughed, his legs kicking as spots sprung up across his vision. At the sight, Jongin grinned, his teeth glinting menacingly. He loosened his grip just as Kyungsoo’s world began to go black; panting as he sucked in much needed breaths. Blood dripped through Jongin’s fingers, his tight hold reopening the clots of blood that had closed off the bite wounds adorning Kyungsoo’s neck. He squeezed again, tighter, watching tears pool in Kyungsoo’s eyes as he strained against him, mouth agape as his back arched off of the floor. Kyungsoo’s body shook violently, his head thrashing back and forth as he tried to get rid of the vice depriving him of oxygen. Once again, Jongin loosened his grip once he felt Kyungsoo’s efforts weaken, and Kyungsoo sobbed, his body limp and exhausted. He couldn’t do it again, he couldn’t continue on, he was sure of it. Adrenaline pumped through his body, making his muscles spasm with each shift of Jongin’s weight, his brain haywire with a flurry of panicked thoughts. 

He was going to die here. That was the one thought that kept repeating itself in Kyungsoo’s mind, the one thought that stepped forward from the blizzard of incoherence. He was going to die under Jongin’s touch, under his weight, staring into a face he once knew, into eyes that had become nothing more than black holes, amusement glinting in them each time Kyungsoo let out a pained whimper. 

Someone had once told him that when he was about to die, his life would flash before his eyes; every scene, every memory, blurring together into a single moment as his heart stilled and his life sputtered to an end. However, Kyungsoo’s life was not flashing before his eyes. There were no childhood memories, no reminiscence of past elation or sorrow, its context since forgotten. No, the only thing he could see was Jongin, and the life they had lived together. The day they had met, the lies, the night where they would lay together for the first time, where Kyungsoo had learned that Kai had a job, and had learned that Kai wasn’t ‘Kai’ after all. He froze, the memory of the conversation replaying in his head. He had been angry, hurt, yet somehow the words had stuck enough for him to call upon them now. This, surely, counted as an emergency. Kyungsoo couldn’t think of a single way it did not. And he could feel Jongin’s grip on his throat shift, feel his fingers twitch in anticipation, and Kyungsoo sucked in one quick breath; his final attempt at salvation.

“Jongin.” The word hung between them, and for a moment, Kyungsoo was scared that saying it had been a mistake. But the grip on his throat did not tighten, the hand gripping his wrists no more cruel than before. “Jongin, stop.”

Kyungsoo felt him shudder, felt the growl that rolled out from deep within his body, and his breaths quickened, eyes blinking rapidly at the tiny flicker of hope. Because he _had_ stopped, even when Kyungsoo had thought he wouldn’t. “Let go of my hands, Jongin.”

A snarl erupted from the other, teeth bared as his body shook. Kyungsoo swallowed, willing his voice to be strong despite the fear that coiled in his chest. “Let go.” 

Slowly, the grip on his wrists loosened, Jongin cradling the hand that had touched them against his chest as if it had been burned. His eyes remained locked on Kyungsoo’s, anger boiling within them, constant hisses slithering from his mouth. It was a staring contest neither of them was willing to lose, and eventually, Kyungsoo shifted, lifting one hand from the floor slowly. Jongin flinched at the movement, a particularly dangerous growl rumbling in his chest. Kyungsoo winced but did not falter, his hand inching higher until his fingertips ghosted over Jongin’s cheek. He paused, his palm mere centimeters away from Jongin’s skin.

“Come back to me, Jongin.” The words, barely a whisper, scarcely a breath, resounded louder than anything Kyungsoo had heard before. Kyungsoo thought he had reached too far, pushed too much, but then Jongin sighed, eyes fluttering shut as he tipped his head, pressing his cheek into Kyungsoo’s hand. He could feel his heart hammering in his chest as he raised his other hand, cupping Jongin’s face with a feather touch. He was so delicate, so fragile; a stained glass masterpiece just a fraction of a mistake away from shattering. Jongin lowered his hands slowly, as if moving too quickly would damage Kyungsoo even more than he had. His fingers gripped blindly onto Kyungsoo’s torn shirt and he sighed again, his mouth open just enough for Kyungsoo to see his still sharp teeth. It was unnerving at best, and when Jongin shifted to peer down at him with his empty, black eyes, Kyungsoo shivered, feeling vulnerable under the heavy gaze. 

“I love you.” Jongin blinked at Kyungsoo’s voice, his face void of any sign that he heard him, and for a moment, Kyungsoo feared that he was too far gone, but then he felt Jongin’s fingers on his face, their touch polar to the way they had felt before. “I love you,” Kyungsoo repeated, his throat burning with the tears he fought back, “Please come back, Jongin. _Please_.”

The world had stopped for them. Neither noticed the sun slowly setting in the sky, neither cared for the water getting cold in the kettle. They were together in oblivion; their heads above water in spite of wave after wave that crashed over them, and for a brief moment, it seemed like they would stay in such a place forever. Jongin looked Kyungsoo over; the blood, the bruises, the tears, and enough of his mind was lucid to hate himself for it. Then his world tilted, and the only thing that Jongin could remember as his consciousness spiraled into the black was Kyungsoo, and the way he had looked as Jongin tore his world apart.

~ ~ ~

It took Jongin a couple minutes to piece together what had happened. He remembered waking up late, remembered the glamoured hostess and his meeting with Kris, but how he had come to be tucked into bed, his hands zip tied to the headboard, was lost to him. It was like trying to look through fog, trying to piece together a puzzle in complete darkness. He tugged at his restraints lightly, seeing if they would budge and frowning when they didn’t. He felt weak, drained of all his energy despite having just woken up from a deep sleep. The curtains were drawn tightly shut, so it was impossible to say whether it was morning or night. As he squirmed, trying and failing to free himself of the plastic bonds, he felt a chalkiness on his hands, and looked up to see them coated with a thick, rusty film that flaked off with each flex of his fingers.

“Oh god,” he breathed, remembering just how the substance got onto his hands. The fog grew thinner as the minutes dragged, and the more he remembered, the more he wanted to die. He could practically feel Kyungsoo writhe under his touch, feel the way he struggled against him, until he had spent every ounce of energy he had. It still hadn’t been enough. What could have happened if Jongin hadn’t told Kyungsoo his name, if Kyungsoo hadn’t been wise enough to use it? He didn’t want to think about it. He didn’t want to picture what could have happened, what _would_ have happened.

“You’re awake.” The voice came from the doorway, Kyungsoo standing timidly on the edge of their bedroom, thankfully not flicking on the lights. He had a cup of water in his hands, and Jongin could see the liquid slide up the edges of the glass as his hands shook. There was a certain hesitation to Kyungsoo’s step as he approached, an uncertainty held within his eyes that was understandable but no less torturous. Kyungsoo didn’t say anything else, simply holding up the cup for Jongin to drink. He moved on autopilot, not realizing how thirsty he was until the last drop of water had been emptied into his mouth. He felt better, at least, his throat no longer scratchy. 

“I’m sorry.” He wanted desperately for Kyungsoo to look at him, to touch him, but he didn’t, instead his eyes stayed locked on the now empty glass in his hands.

“What… are you?” The question was said so flatly, neither fear nor malice hidden in the words. It was hard to see with the room so dark, and Jongin wasn’t sure whether it was a mercy or a curse. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to see the extent of the damage he had caused. “You’re not human.”

It was a statement rather than a question; an accusation that he couldn’t deny. “No, I’m not.”

“Your eyes were completely black.” Kyungsoo didn’t even acknowledge that Jongin had spoken, his own voice rising slightly in panic, “Your teeth were all long and sharp and you _hurt_ me. You said you wouldn’t and you did, and now I’m barely managing to sit beside you because I’m scared.” His voice broke on the last word, tears springing to his eyes. “I’m scared of you, Kai.”

“I never wanted you to get caught up in this. To get caught up in _me_.” Jongin’s voice was pleading, eyes searching the darkness for anything he could grasp onto. “I know you’re scared, Soo, and you have every right to be, but please, please know that I couldn’t stop myself. I can’t explain it to you, but that thing wasn’t me. It wasn’t me.”

“Then who was it?” Jongin flinched at Kyungsoo’s broken sob, cursing his bonds for keeping him form embracing the other. “Who? When I thought I was breathing my last breath, it was your face I was staring into. When I was begging for mercy, it was your name that I begged. So tell me, who was it exactly that did that to me? Was it Baekhyun? Was it Chanyeol? Was it Yifan?”

Jongin froze, his eyes darkening. If that bastard had _dared_ touch his Kyungsoo, if he had so much as _looked_ at him- “How do you know about Yifan?”

At his cold tone, Kyungsoo looked over, leaning slightly back into his chair. “You kept saying his name while you slept.” He frowned, head cocked in accusation as his arms folded across his chest. “Who is he?”

“My boss.” Jongin could barely hold back the sigh of relief that overtook his body. It was comforting, knowing Yifan hadn’t taken matters into his own hands, though it didn’t dampen the raw hatred Jongin had for the man. “He’s the reason I- he’s why you got hurt.” Jongin’s face twisted, trying to think of a way to explain what had happened, to assure him that he would never do such things intentionally. “People like him- like me- can make people do what we want. We can pilot, so to speak, other people’s bodies; their minds.” He grinned lazily, admiration sparkling in his eyes. “Except you.”

“He wants me dead.” It was a statement rather than a question, and delivered without an ounce of emotion. Jongin was slightly impressed, even if the indifference was false. 

“Yes.” The smile fell from Jongin’s face.

“Why?”

Shrugging, Jongin looked away, thankful for the shadows hiding the blush that crept onto his face. “Because I’m madly in love with you,” he chuckled, surprised that his voice managed to remain steady throughout the sentence, “and it’s interfering with my work.”

A raised eyebrow, which Jongin didn’t see, was all Kyungsoo graced the statement with. “And I assume that by work you aren’t referring to being a waiter.”

“Unfortunately not.” He still didn’t look at Kyungsoo, his next words aching in his throat. “If you want me to leave, I will.” He didn’t want to leave. “So that you would be safe.” His stomach churned simply thinking about it. “I can remove myself from your life.” He wanted to stay. “You’d never hear from me again” He wanted to fucking _stay._

“I don’t want you to leave.” Just like that, Kyungsoo halted the shattering threatening to take over Jongin’s body, and his had snapped to gaze back at him, lips parting. “I love you. _All_ of you. And while I don’t want there to be a repeat of last night, I don’t want to lose you entirely. There has to be a way. There must be some sort of compromise between me and your job.”

A frown tugged at Jongin’s lips, desperately needing to explain but painfully wanting not to. “Kyungsoo, my job-”

A raised hand interrupted his sentence, Kyungsoo shaking his head with closed eyes. “No, don’t tell me. I don’t want to know, not now, not like this. As long as I have you, I’m willing to look the other way, to stay in the dark. It’s worth it. _You’re _worth it.”__

Once again, Jongin found himself cursing his restraints, needing to hug, to touch, Kyungsoo. “I love you.” It was a scarcely efficient way of expressing how he felt, but tied up as he was, there was little Jongin could do. “I love you so much.” 

“ _Cute._ ” The word didn’t come from Kyungsoo, nor from anywhere else in the room. It sounded within Jongin’s own head, the voice syrupy in condescension. Jongin’s gaze fluttered over the shadows of the room, his lips forming around the word ‘no’ but his breath not giving volume to it. “ _I might just shed a tear._ ” 

And suddenly Jongin could feel it; the sickly sweet presence in the room, like spilled champagne or apples left to rot. Panic rose in Jongin’s chest, and he thrashed against the bed, bruising his wrists on the zip ties. 

“Kai? What’s wrong?” Kyungsoo’s voice broke through his frenzy, worry accenting each syllable. 

“Cut me loose,” Jongin near shrieked, his body shaking in the effort to free himself, “Kyungsoo, cut me loose. _He’s here_ , you have to-” 

Jongin stilled suddenly, his chest rising and falling rapidly as his eyes locked on one corner. Kyungsoo followed his gaze, frowning at the empty space. Jongin shook his head, Yi Fan’s figure clear to him, his face hidden in the shadows. 

“ _You’ve been in this world long enough, Jongin._ ” The figure didn’t move, his mouth remaining plastered into a grim line even as he spoke. His words echoed against Jongin’s ears, too loud, too harsh. He could barely feel Kyungsoo’s hands grip his shoulders, barely hear Kyungsoo’s frantic, confused shouts. He just kept staring at the sessile figure, and it kept staring back. “ _You’ve had your fun. It’s time to come home_.” 

“I _am_ home.” The words were a sob, making Kyungsoo once more look towards the corner of the room. Jongin could feel his hands tighten their hold on his shirt, and he knew that now Kyungsoo could see him too, and he desperately wished he couldn’t. Kyungsoo, however, didn’t shrink under the presence, as he thought he would. He didn’t flee, or cry, or even let out so much as a whimper. 

“Get out.” The words were a growl, animalistic in a way Jongin hadn’t known Kyungsoo could sound. He stood; not brave enough to walk close the distance between Yi Fan and himself, but brave enough to take a couple steps forward, so that he stood between him and Jongin. “Yi Fan, get out of my house.” 

The eyes that had been trained on Jongin’s helpless form snapped to Kyungsoo’s face in an instant, his pupils expanding until his entire eye was black. He snarled, revealing rows of pointed teeth, and Kyungsoo grinned. “ _Yi fan _,” he sang as his head tilted, smug, “ _Yi Fan _, did you not hear me? I said; get the fuck out of my house.” He leaned forward, his arms crossing against his chest. “Now.”____

The man snarled again, shaking every piece of furniture in Kyungsoo’s apartment, and then he was gone, dissipating into the air without so much as a trace of having been there. Maybe he hadn’t to begin with. Kyungsoo pressed a hand over his stuttering heart, elation trembling in his body. Elation that, once he turned around to look at Jongin, evaporated on his tongue. Because yes, Yi Fan was gone, but as Kyungsoo’s eyes stared at the empty bed, he realized that Jongin was too. 


	5. Home is Wherever I'm with You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Maybe human wasn’t something you were; maybe it was something you worked to be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SIKE  
> You guys didn't think I'd leave it like that, did you? This is an _apology_ fic, not a _cause even more sadness than before_ fic  
>  THIS is the final chapter lmao

If there was one thing Jongin would never get used to, it was the staring. He could _feel_ their eyes on him as he walked by, not even bothering to be subtle as they burned holes through his clothing. The cold weather did not, as he had hoped, convince people to stay indoors, and the streets were just as busy as they had been any other night. He glanced up, locking eyes with a teenager, too young to be out that late yet either brave or stupid enough to be anyways. His steps faltered at he laid eyes on Jongin, blinking as his eyes grew unfocused. Jongin could feel the boy’s mind stirring, desire unearthed as the two grew closer. Jongin could have had him, if he wanted. He could reach out, trail his fingers over the exposed skin of the boy’s neck, pull him closer. Jongin could do anything he wanted with the boy; he was his to bend, to break. And perhaps, he would have, but he had already hunted that night, and though some things he did without choice, he always made sure to never go over what was needed. He gave the bare minimum, and sometimes less, but it was enough that he could walk the streets without having to look over his shoulder, without dreaming of a cloying presence drowning him in thick nectar. It was enough to have what he wanted in return.

He could still feel her blood on his hands. He could still hear her moans, her soft cries that turned to choked gurgles, eventually fading into silence. It had been messy; Jongin was unfocused, only half paying attention to the needy body under him. She had been beautiful, disgustingly so. Her skin had been flawless, plump lips and alluring eyes able to draw anyone in. Her blouse had been tossed aside the moment she managed to rip it open, buttons bouncing off the bed to be lost on the dirty carpet. Underneath her shirt she had been stunning, but Jongin hadn’t let her go any further than that. He didn’t want to see another inch of her flesh, didn’t want any more of her exposed, offered to him without the slightest restraint. She had been beautiful, and at the same time vile. Her nails dug into Jongin’s arms as they kissed, their sharp edges breaking his skin. Begs had formed on her pretty lips, saying his name over and over, a mantra. And it had reminded Jongin of what he had done to Kyungsoo, the pain he had caused. It always did. So his lips moved from her mouth to her jaw, and she had arched up into him, and his hands trailed up her body to her face, gentle, gentle. He breathed out onto the skin of her neck, now marred with blossoming hickeys and bruises, before biting down, feeling his teeth extend deep within her flesh.

He hadn’t even stayed to watch her die. He left her to bleed out on the bed, adding to the countless stains already splotched over the mattress. One quick stop to the bathroom to wash the blood from his hands and his mouth, and then he was gone, slamming the door of the motel and not once looking back. 

The number of people on the street dwindled as both the night and his journey went on, until he was the alone, the neighborhoods growing more and more unruly. He could have taken the nice route, but walking through the ratty suburbs was faster, and it was not like he had anything to fear from the source of the shuffles in the shadows or the occasional bang that echoed off of concrete. 

“Excuse me,” a small voice came from his left, uncertainty making it waver. Jongin turned, a glare already set on his face when he was met with a pair of wide, frightened eyes. Eyes that weren’t, as he had thought, unfocused, but clear, and owned by a girl that didn’t belong in this part of the city, or this part of the night. “Do you know when the next bus is coming?”

He glanced up, realizing that they were, in fact, standing under the sign for a bus stop. “This late?” he scoffed, tempted to walk away. He wanted to go home. “They stop running around ten, but there is one that comes at one. In about” he checked his phone, “forty five minutes.”

“Oh.” Jongin could tell the girl was holding back her shock, and didn’t blame her. Not even he wanted to stay out longer than necessary in such a despaired part of the city. Her eyes flicked back and forth over the empty street, trying to read the shadows that had cloaked the alleys and buildings alike. “Thank you.”

A quick nod was all Jongin gave the girl before stalking away, thinking about her eyes. They hadn’t been as pretty as Kyungsoo’s had, but they were calm like the sea, and clear as the chilled air that brushed around him. No, she didn’t belong in a place like this. It was always a wonder to Jongin, how humans seemed to get themselves into the worst of situations. He wasn’t human. He had played at it, perhaps, for a couple weeks, months. It was a façade that had shattered the moment Kyungsoo had asked him what he was, had looked at him with fear clouding his eyes and declared him not human. And it had hurt when it he said it, hurt more than Jongin had cared to realize. He sighed, looking over his shoulder at the small body huddled under the bus pole. It would be a miracle if she lasted the night. And he realized he should help her, not because he was human, but because he wasn’t. Because no, he wasn’t human, but he wasn’t a monster either. Because maybe human wasn’t something you were; maybe it was something you worked to be. 

The girl looked up at the sound of his footsteps, her body tensing. Jongin didn’t say a word, stopping once he was a few feet away and not even looking in her direction. She opened her mouth to speak, but closed it just as quickly, taking a small step closer. As the minutes ticked on, her body slowly began to relax, and Jongin could see her slip occasional glances his way, though whether they were to check if he was still there or out of mere curiosity he couldn’t tell. Nobody bothered them during the forty five minutes that they stood, though one particularly drunk man had had to be driven off with a stern glare from Jongin after stumbling too close. When at last headlights lit up the dingy streets, he turned to walk away, smiling to himself as the girl called out one last ‘thank you’ before boarding the near empty bus. 

Walking eased the chill that had settled into his bones, and Jongin took a deep breath as he passed house after rotting house, enjoying the way the air felt in his lungs. It reminded him that he was alive, that all of those deaths weren’t in vain, that he had a purpose. It was almost too easy, to slip back into his old lifestyle, to kill again. It was familiar, comfortable, to let what he had been suppressing to once more bloom, to not detest the stares that followed wherever he went but rather use them to his advantage. He was made as irresistible as he was dangerous, efficient in every way needed. Yi Fan had been right. He was made for this; for destruction, for pain. But, as it had turned out, he was also made for love.

~ ~ ~

It had been three days, and Jongin hadn’t stopped crying. It had been amusing at first; a creature of the night, a demon, reduced to a trembling puddle of tears. Over what should have been his own prey, no less. By then, however, it was nothing more than annoying. He was inconsolable, and his quota was no more improved than when he had gone rogue.

“Jongin,” Junmyeon sighed, gentle with his words despite his exasperation, “Stop this. We did not bring you back here just so you could wallow in a corner.”

“Just kill me then.” Jongin didn’t even look at Junmyeon as he spoke, his legs curled into his chest. He supposed he did look pitiful lying curled up on the ground, but he simply did not have the energy to care. “It’s not like I’m any use to you anyways.”

Junmyeon frowned, rolling his eyes even though the other couldn’t see the action. “We’ve gone over this. You can’t just throw your life away just because of some boy.” He could see Jongin tense; hear the soft growl that rumbled in his throat. Narrowing his eyes, Junmyeon took a step towards the body lying on the ground, his head cocked. Because Jongin _would_ throw his life away for the boy; he had proven it many times over within the short time span he had been back. “Besides,” a smirk found its way onto Junmyeon’s lips as he spoke, waiting for his words to take effect, “it has only been three days. I’m sure Kyungsoo still misses you.”

At this, Jongin stiffened, rolling so that he could glare at Junmyeon from his position on the floor. “Don’t-”

“When have we ever cared about what you do?” Junmyeon interrupted before Jongin could speak, fighting the grin that was threatening to overtake his face. “Do you think me and Yi Fan have time to micromanage each and every one of you?” He shook his head. “As long as you do your job, you can do whatever you want.”

There was silence as Jongin processed the words and the permission laced within them. He blinked at Junmyeon, mouth agape as he slowly sat up. “Don’t- you better not be playing with me right now. I can’t take it.”

This time Junmyeon couldn’t stop the smile from his face, teeth glinting as he chuckled. “Every job has a paycheck. Consider this yours.”

Disbelief clouded Jongin’s mind, as if searching for anything that would stop him, would take away what he so desperately needed to get back “Yi Fan won’t approve.”

Junmyeon raised an eyebrow. “Has that ever stopped you before?”

~ ~ ~

The house was quiet when Jongin entered, which wasn’t worrying considering how late it was. Forgoing any food, Jongin quietly slipped off his shoes, creeping down the hall to the bedroom. His heart swelled at the gentle sounds of breathing coming from the lump in the middle of the bed, and he tugged off his shirt and pants before creeping under the covers, relishing the warmth that had accumulated.

“Mm?” Kyungsoo stirred, roused by the movement and the arms that had wrapped around his waist. “Kai?”

“Sorry.” Jongin pressed a gentle kiss to the back of Kyungsoo’s neck, pulling him tighter against his body. It had been weeks, and Jongin still came home every night feeling as if it was his first. Kyungsoo was all he needed, and having him, loving him, made every death worth it. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“S’okay.” His words were slurred with sleepiness, and he snuggled closer into Jongin’s chest, “I’m just glad you’re home.”

Jongin grinned in the darkness, weaving his fingers through Kyungsoo’s and feeling him relax once more into slumber. Because he _was_ home, truly, irrefutably. “I am too.”


End file.
